The League of Extraordinary, Fat Gentlemen
by Walking Through a Dream
Summary: In years to come, one man remembers the New Directions' first Christmas.  He tells the story- as a warning to those who will come after to carry the tradition, and the burden, of Santa-hood.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, nor do I truly have a deeper insight into the world of being a mall Santa. I just saw that first Christmas special a while back and found myself thinking about a certain scene...

**The League of Extraordinary (Fat) Gentlemen**

'Orientation', they called it; when it seemed like that couldn't possibly be a suitable term. There'd been somewhere between thirty and fifty of them, dressed in red, padded with pillows, bearded with some white, prickly torture device that had to have been designed by the enemies of America. And Christmas. They were the mall Santas of Ohio, a legion dedicated to protecting the dreams of children! Well, ok, most of them were there because they really needed the money, even if it did mean demeaning seasonal work. But hey, attitude was everything, or so they said.

At orientation they were told the basics of the job. They signed some worrying papers that would make the company liable for nothing because they were responsible for everything. They were given tips on laughing in a jolly manner, and pitching their voices in a comforting sort of way. And then there was the interesting part: the testimonials from the serial Santas, those men who kept slogging back to this profession every year for love or desperation.

This year the first testimonial was given by a medium sized black man who'd obviously decided that wearing the beard near his face was good enough. "Being a mall Santa," he started, "is a serious and sometimes dangerous business." There was a diverse range of reactions to this, ranging from understanding, commiserating nods, to wide looks of disbelief. "Sure, most kids are easy enough. They sit down, tell you what they want, and then are ushered off by harassed parents. Most of the time the worst you have to deal with is an extra whining, piercing voice, or the kind of Christmas demands that would only be realistic if they were members of the Trump family." There were more nods and a few laughs this time. That was more or less the standard day in the Santa-ing business. "Then, everyone's either experienced or heard of some poor Santa being sat on by a kid who lacks… control. Yeah, there's a reason that the number for Bob's Hardcore Dry-cleaning is included with your uniforms." This was mostly met with either the distaste of memory or imagination, depending on which group the year's recruits belonged to. "But then, some years there are things you never expected to see, things you never suspected you would have to deal with. Ah," the man sighed, "I remember it as if it were yesterday…"

_(Two years prior)_

_Every year there was one, some teenage joker who got their kicks out of making the mall Santa support his overweight, under-educated, teenage butt. It was one of those things that you just smiled and bore gracefully- and also literally, unfortunately. This year though, there were at least ten of them, and only a couple looked like the kind of kids that generally pulled this kind of stunt. Was it some kind of group hazing event? He had wondered, but he had never found out._

_It was just so weird. There was an absurd sort of sincerity to the outing. Oh, he didn't think these kids, well, most of them, actually believed in Santa, but they seemed to be genuinely trying to do… something, something that wasn't mean. Honestly, most of them seemed to be going through with the experience in the same resigned way that the Santa was. _

_Or, at least, it had all been resigned acceptance until the girls started taking their turns. There was that lovely, full figured girl, the delicate Asian, those two blonde cheerleaders (one of whom seemed like she either was playing with them all or was actually slightly insane)… They were all gorgeous girls. Gorgeous girls that were sitting on his lap. Gorgeous girls that were sitting and wiggling on his lap while telling him their hearts' desires. He'd **tried**, damn it. He really, really had._

(Present)

"And then the last one got up, practically draping herself over me. And the combined effect just did me in. Image my horror when she jumps up and yells something like: 'That'd better be a roll of Certs in your pocket'. I thought then that I'd be lucky if I just lost my job." The audience was rapt with attention, all imagining the scene with feelings that were part sympathy and part envy all at once.

"Damn," one of the younger Santa recruits commented astutely.

"Yeah," another agreed. "He was damn lucky that nothing happened."

"Totally," the first agreed in turn before snickering, "but then, what a way to go, right?"

And even though he knew it shouldn't be said, the second responded, "And come at the same time."


End file.
